


Near Light

by nihilegi



Series: Ours [3]
Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihilegi/pseuds/nihilegi
Summary: Three years. He’d wastedthree years. Wasting any more time would becriminal.





	Near Light

Florence was… peculiar. It had taken Baby a year to get used to the city, another year to understand it, and one more to grow relatively comfortable there. The streets still weren’t as familiar as Vancouver’s had been – not to mention Atlanta’s – but that was in the past. It was all in the past, now. 

Baby hadn’t yet dropped his guard. The streets were dangerous in their unfamiliarity. Yes, he was aware that this was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. He knew he would feel more comfortable behind the wheel of a car – _any_ car – but Buddy had discouraged that course of action.

(He hadn’t outright forbidden Baby to drive of course, but the tone of voice he used clearly communicated that he’d prefer Baby to… not do that.)

Baby scuffed his shoe on the cobblestone pavement, jamming his hands even deeper into his pockets. Three and a half years. He had been with Darling and Buddy for three and a half years, three of which had been spent an entire ocean away from home. If the Baby from back then could only see him now, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself. The thought struck him as funny, and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

The music he was listening to was another thing that past-Baby wouldn’t understand. Darling had bought him another iPod and filled it with music of _her_ choosing, a phenomenon that Baby couldn’t even begin to comprehend. It had taken some getting used to, but with some of Buddy’s (tamer) music interspersed with Darling’s playlist, it was bearable.

Baby found himself mouthing the words to Despacito before he could reel himself back in. Darling would make fun of him endlessly if she’d seen, but under the surface she’d be thrilled. _Especially_ with how long it had taken Baby to pick up the fast-paced Spanish lyrics. He scoffed under his breath before stopping abruptly, trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

Fortunately, he knew the streets well enough to navigate his way to the farmer’s market he visited every Saturday morning, despite his earlier detour. It was around a forty-five minute walk, both ways, but Baby didn’t mind. He liked the freedom Florence gave him. No longer was he constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering if the cop eyeing him was one of Doc’s or not. Something about the air in Italy just made him feel liberated.

Of course, he probably should attribute part of that to Buddy and Darling as well. Baby, to his own horror, found himself smiling at the ground at the mere _thought_ of them. He was getting soft.

He’d left early that morning, artfully extracting himself from the tangle of limbs and blankets that occupied his, Darling’s, and Buddy’s king-sized bed. Their sleeping arrangement had been the topic of much debate for the first few years, but they’d finally come to a consensus: Buddy in the middle, with Baby and Darling curled up on either side of him.

The only thing Baby hated about sleeping with the two of them was how fucking difficult it was to get up in the morning with Buddy’s hand splayed on his lower back and Darling’s leg thrown over his own.

He walked through the stalls piled high with fruits and vegetables, head bopping subtly to the music. Buddy had given him a list of things to buy, but Baby knew it wasn’t an actual grocery list. Everything Buddy _actually_ needed to cook with was delivered to their villa twice a week. Baby’s list (two Roma tomatoes and a zucchini) was just to make him feel useful. Even though it was the slightest bit patronizing, Baby still appreciated Buddy trying to give him a purpose.

Sometimes, sitting stagnant in the villa all day could get maddening. 

Baby approached the stall he usually visited and greeted the vender in accented Italian. The man patiently waited for Baby to stumble through his order before turning and bagging up the produce. Baby thanked him warmly before turning back for the villa, and finding himself face-to-face with the only person that had been haunting his dreams more than Doc in the past three years. 

“ _Baby_?”

Her hair was longer and less sun-kissed, but otherwise she looked the same. Her accent gave her away more than anything else. Baby froze, his eyes going wide behind his sunglasses. It took around twenty seconds for either of them to move (which, Baby later realized, gave her plenty of time to confirm it was actually him).  

“Oh my God,” she said, reaching out towards him. In an instant, his small bag of produce was on the ground and he was sprinting away, his shoes slapping against the pavement. Almost unconsciously, his finger clicked the ‘next’ button on his iPod and Queen was abruptly replaced with Charger by the Gorillaz.

His heart was in his throat. In a moment of abstract horror, Baby realized that he wasn’t still in the top physical condition he’d been in, back in Atlanta. He was winded within minutes. _Fuck_ , he thought to himself. _Has_ that much _time passed?_ Baby could hear the girl yelling after him as he shoved through the crowds and vaulted over stalls, pushing on despite the burning in his chest.

For one brief, paralyzing moment, she caught up to him and snagged his sleeve. He slipped out of his jacket and veered around a corner, where a man was revving up a moped. Before he even had time to think about the implications of his actions, Baby shouldered the man off, mounted the bike, and roared out of the alleyway and into cross traffic. The ghost from his past was left behind in the dust right as the song reached its crescendo. 

He’d never much cared for motorcycles or any other two-wheeled vehicle – he and Buddy agreed that there was nothing more magical than four-wheel drive – but there was something about the wind whipping through his hair that made the situation all the more _real_. His heart was still pounding long after he’d ditched the bike a couple blocks away from the villa.

By the time Baby finally collapsed against the inside of the front door, gasping for breath, he could hear Buddy and Darling going about their morning routines quietly. He wondered briefly if they’d heard him speeding down their quiet street – “We’re trying to keep a _low profile_ , Baby,” Buddy would scold – but after a few beats of silence he figured he was in the clear. His heart continued to race.

Baby stared into the middle distance for a few moments longer, before exhaling finitely. 

“ _Fuck_.”

\-- 

Baby wasn’t actively trying to keep his… _encounter_ with his past life hidden from Buddy and Darling, but an opportunity never _organically_ arose for him to tell them about it.

Admittedly, the instance he finally did muster the courage up to do it wasn’t ideal.

Baby was laid out on their bed, the sheets clenched in his left hand and his right resting on Darling’s hip. She was riding him slow and dirty, her fingernails scraping down his chest and leaving red welts behind. Baby’s legs were spread as wide as possible, and Buddy fucked into him slowly from behind, nipping at Darling’s neck as he did so.

He wasn’t exactly sure when, but at some point Baby had stopped needing to play music when they had sex. The only sounds in the room were soft moans and the sinful sound of skin meeting skin. 

“ _Jason_ ,” he hissed out when the other man brushed against his prostate, canting his hips up towards him and thrusting deeper into Darling as a result. She let out a gasp, burying her nails into his already abused skin.

“Yes, Baby? Got something to say?” Buddy answered almost playfully, his voice gruff and low. Baby paused, his hips stilling. Well, it wasn’t the opportunity he’d _wanted_ , but it would have to suffice.

“I ran into Debora at the market today. This– _ah_ –morning,” he said through gritted teeth. At the same exact moment, Buddy and Darling both froze.

“God damn it, Baby Doll. We have to work on your dirty talk,” Buddy said, rolling his hips twice more before sliding out. The sudden emptiness Baby felt was only made worse by Darling sitting back on his thighs, staring down at him in shock.

“What the fuck? Why are you only telling us this now?” She demanded, and Baby sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know how to.”

“Are you sure it was her?” Buddy asked slowly, readjusting himself to sit on the bed. His erection stood out proudly from his naked body even as Baby tugged a sheet over his own. Buddy had _never_ been ashamed of his body, a phenomenon that baffled Baby to no end.

“Oh, don’t fucking patronize him, Jason. The boy’s deaf, not blind,” Darling said, rolling her eyes and sitting back next to her husband.

They were both looking him with that same _fucking_ look; the look that Baby still couldn’t identify, even after living with them for years. Darling tilted her head, her eyes carefully blank. Her hair was still blonde, but it was getting long enough to graze her collarbones. Buddy pulled the corner of his lip into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully while he furrowed his eyebrows. 

The three of them were equally naked, but Baby felt much more exposed than them in that moment. In times such as that, they ceased to be Baby, Buddy, and Darling. Sometimes they were stripped raw until they were just Miles, Jason, and Monica.

It was those times that Baby was both his most and least nostalgic for the simplicity of Atlanta. It was as if there were something deep within himself that couldn’t recognize how much time had passed. Sometimes, he couldn’t recognize how _different_ things were, now. He tugged the sheet in his lap up even higher.

“I don’t understand. Why now? Why is she _here_?” Baby demanded, before sighing and covering his eyes with his forearm. “Fuck, that was stupid. You don’t know any more than I do.”

“’S not stupid, Baby. It doesn’t matter why she’s here. All that matters is that _we’re_ here, and if you don’t want to see her, you don’t have to,” Buddy said. His words were tough, but it was the steely look in Darling’s eyes that really sold it. Briefly, he was back in Bo’s Diner with Bats next to him, pressing him into the corner of the already-too-small booth with Darling threatening them both. 

Except he’d killed Bats. He’d killed Bats, Buddy had threatened to kill _him_ , and then he’d run off to Vancouver with two criminals he barely knew. 

“Sorry I ruined the mood,” Baby said softly, without uncovering his eyes. He wasn’t surprised when Darling nestled up next to him under the sheet, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“You do have a talent for that,” Darling laughed softly, placing a grounding hand on Baby’s stomach. “Do you want your iPod?”

A few seconds ticked by in silence with Buddy perched on the edge of the bed, ready to get Baby whatever he needed. The room was silent, but it wasn’t the tentative silence Baby was used to. The ringing hadn’t yet returned to Baby’s ears. He uncovered his eyes and looked up at Buddy.

“I’m okay. Can you…?”

Buddy seemed to understand, readjusting Baby and Darling so he could sidle in and cover the three of them with the heavy quilt someone had kicked down to the foot of the bed earlier. The room hadn’t been cold in the heat of their earlier passion, but with the stillness came the chill of night.

“We’re good, kid. I promise you, we’re good.” Buddy was speaking softly enough that Baby could hardly hear him, even in their close proximity. The words were whispered into his hair, still damp with sweat from earlier.

It took a very long time for sleep to come.

\-- 

The villa was silent, for once. Baby sat on the edge of the sofa, staring blankly at the TV, as if it would miraculously turn on if he glowered at it intensely enough. His leg shook, vibrating up and down to a silent beat. Part of him was tempted to go fiddle around with the grand piano in the corner to distract himself, but he knew the music wouldn’t come. It hadn’t come since they’d arrived in Florence.

He stayed put. 

It was a quarter past two in the morning, and he wasn’t worried. He _wasn’t_. Buddy and Darling were both adults who didn’t owe him any kind of explanation for their whereabouts.

Logically he knew this, but it was still unsettling to have them leave home early in the day and not return until the following morning. Especially when they refused to tell him where they were going. He knew where they were going, of course – he wasn’t _slow_ , contrary to popular belief – but that didn’t mean he had to accept it.

“Don’t you worry about it, Baby Doll,” Darling had said when he’d asked earlier, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. She’d already donned an inconspicuous, all-black outfit and her go-to white tennis shoes. Shockingly, her words hadn’t reassured him at all. Buddy had just shrugged off Baby’s concern, his eyes becoming steely in a painfully familiar way.

He’d already adopted the hard, don’t-fuck-with-me attitude he had assumed during jobs back in Atlanta.

Staring at the reflection of himself in the blank screen had become tedious. Baby flopped back on the couch dramatically, letting out a sigh. He didn’t know when his incapability of being alone with himself – even for a matter of _hours_ – had arisen, but it was all too obvious when Buddy and Darling were away. His head lolled on the cushions. He didn’t think it was possible for him to feel _less_ useful than he did in that moment.

They hadn’t even _asked_ him to play a part in whatever nefarious activity they were getting up to. He couldn’t tell if that were a relief or not. It definitely should have been, but there was still the underlying feeling of inadequacy that Baby was slowly learning to recognize in himself.

The silence was insufferable, all of a sudden. Baby rolled over and hit the ‘play’ button on his iPod, recognizing the opening lines to MGMT’s Indie Rokkers almost immediately. He sighed again. He wasn’t too big a fan of the song itself, but one of the lyrics had amused him enough to download it after he’d heard it on the radio.

_Jason’s got the energy, used to be a coke fiend._

The tongue-in-cheek lyric usually made him smirk, especially when Buddy was around to hear it and roll his eyes, but now the song just washed over Baby as he gnawed his lower lip.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the front door opening. It took until Buddy audibly hissed in pain that Baby found the presence of mind to leap off the couch and hurry to the entryway.

Darling had a duffle bag on one shoulder and Buddy’s slouched form on the other. He was putting nearly all his weight on her, his left hand putting pressure on his ribcage, and she was clearly trying not to stumble. As soon as Baby rounded the corner, their eyes flickered to him and they froze as if they’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Hey, Baby,” Darling said, and her voice sounded so different. It wasn’t even because she was out of breath. Baby could easily imagine her words, in that _particular_ tone of voice, echoing around Doc’s warehouse back in Atlanta.

“We figured you’d be asleep,” Buddy said gruffly, pulling his hand away and looking at it. He grimaced at the blood.

“No. I wasn’t _asleep_ ,” Baby said lowly. 

“Well, you should’ve been. Excuse me, Baby Doll, I have to go stitch my idiot husband up,” Darling said, dropping the duffle bag by the door. It hit the ground hard as she began walking Buddy towards the kitchen. Baby was once again taken aback by how strong she was. The flight of stairs between their driveway and the front door were no easy feat when one was doing something as menial as carrying _groceries_.

(Not to mention a duffle bag full of money and an adult man.)

Baby trailed behind them and watched silently as Darling sat Buddy on the counter and started slowly and methodically cutting off his black Henley. The fabric made an unpleasant squelching noise when it was pulled away from the skin of his ribs, and Buddy hissed in pain.

“Oh, shut up. It’s not that bad,” Darling said quietly, pulling away to tie her hair back. Buddy grumbled something contrary in response.

She began to mop up the blood slowly and methodically, biting at her lower lip subconsciously while she worked. Baby stepped closer to them after a couple beats with a morbid curiosity. 

The wound really wasn’t that bad. It appeared – based on Baby’s very limited knowledge of injuries – that the right side of Buddy’s ribcage had been grazed by a bullet. It wouldn’t leave any permanent damage, but it would definitely hurt like hell until it healed.

“Hm,” Darling said, gently sponging at the blood on Buddy’s torso. “I don’t think I’ll even have to stitch this up. It’s really not that deep.”

“Still hurts, though,” Buddy said dramatically.

“Take an ibuprofen and get over it. You’re fine,” she said, kissing his cheek gently.

Baby watched them silently, jaw twitching minutely. It took an additional two minutes for Buddy to notice something was wrong, meeting Baby’s eye line over Darling’s shoulder.

“Oh, God. What is it, Baby?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” he replied, turning on his heel and striding out of the kitchen. It was a childish and melodramatic reaction but he didn’t _care_.

The villa was large and ornate, but there were very few places Baby had not yet explored. He’d had three years to investigate every nook and cranny of their dwelling, after all. Really, the only room he hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time in was the guest suite, located on the second floor with an adjoining bathroom and sitting area.

When they’d first arrived in Florence, he’d stood in the doorway and appraised it thoughtfully. _This is what could have been_ , he thought to himself, _if things had gone just a little bit differently in Vancouver_. The notion alone was enough to put a bad taste in his mouth. 

Baby didn’t let himself think about it for too long. He just walked to the bed and collapsed, face down. The mattress was terribly uncomfortable.

After about twenty minutes of agonizing silence, he heard Buddy trudging up the stairs. His footfalls were much heavier than Darling’s, so it was always easier to tell when he was approaching. Baby didn’t move from his spot on the bed when Buddy finally entered the room, so the older man just shoved him over and laid down next to him, groaning slightly as he jarred his wound.

“You should be more careful when you’re getting shot at,” Baby said. 

“Is that why you’re throwing a tantrum? Because I got shot? That seems a little beneath you,” Buddy answered.

A silence passed between them, and Baby found himself wishing there was music playing – _any_ music – to break the tension. 

“I’m not mad you got _shot_ ,” Baby replied lowly. “I’m mad that I wasn’t there to keep it from happening. If I’d been driving, I could have gotten you both away in time.”

Another beat passed before Buddy rested a hand on Baby’s lower back.

“Kid, you remember that job we had together, back in Atlanta? With that dickhead who asked Doc if you were retarded?”

“Yes,” Baby breathed. He remembered, alright. He’d be lying if he said Griff’s words didn’t still echo through his head from time to time. 

“Do you remember what I said to you in the elevator afterwards?” 

“…Yes.”

“I told you that the next time Doc called, you shouldn’t pick up. I didn’t even know you then, but I knew you didn’t belong in this world. You _still_ don’t. Doc didn’t give you a choice, but Darling and I are. If you still want to do this in another year, you tell me and I’ll get you behind the wheel, but you aren’t going to do this because you feel like you owe us. You don’t owe us _shit_ , and this isn’t who you are.” 

“But I’m not _doing_ anything,” Baby said sharply. “I just walk around the city all day and read and listen to music. You and Darling are out there, risking your _lives_ , and I’m not pulling my weight.”

“Miles, if I expected you to pull your weight, I wouldn’t have fucking let you get in that car back in Atlanta without a cent to your name. This isn’t about _breaking even_. This is what people who love each other _do_ , and I’m sorry it took you twenty-four _fucking_ years to learn that."

Baby finally turned over to look at Buddy. He looked rough. Baby had gotten so used to the neat, almost business-like way Buddy had been styling his hair ever since they’d left Atlanta, but now it hung in his face, plastered to his forehead with dried sweat. It was eerily reminiscent of how he used to wear it when Baby had first met him.

It was that long-gone familiarity that finally inspired him to speak.

“Sometimes, I don’t think I know how to be anyone other than Baby,” he breathed. “ _Doc’s_ Baby. I feel like I’m fucking you over, if you’re out there doing… what you do – what _we_ do – and I’m just sitting here like an idiot, waiting to see if you come home.”

Buddy was reaching for him before he even finished speaking, but Baby jerked away from him.

“Don’t make me chase you,” Buddy scolded. “I got _shot_ today.”

“I’m aware,” Baby answered, but he allowed the older man to rest a hand on his chest regardless.

“Your heart’s beating really hard.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re allowed to get _upset_ , Miles. Monica and I never talked about this with you after we left Vancouver, but maybe we should have. I’m no professional, but even _I_ can see how fucked up your mindset is.”

“Thanks,” Baby said dryly. 

“Shut up, you know that’s not what I meant. You spent so many years at Doc’s beck and call that you never learned to… be a _person_. Even here, you’re always on edge, waiting for us to make you be our driver. We’re never going to ask you, kid. Stop fucking waiting for it.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Baby asked, instantly embarrassed at the crack in his voice. Buddy didn’t comment on it.

“Find out how to be a person, firstly. Your own person. Find what you like to do and _do it_. Try and pick something other than driving. I mean, I ain’t gonna stop you from doing it ever again, but wait a couple more years at least. I don’t think you should get behind the wheel again until you can do it without seeing Doc’s fucking face in your mind. We know what… what it was _like_ with him, back in Atlanta. None of that was your fault, Baby.”

Baby gazed up at Buddy silently, not quite comprehending what he meant. The older man was chewing his lip, as if he wanted to say something else.

“What is it?” Baby prodded.

“Secondly… Baby, you need to learn how to be _home_. For the foreseeable future, this is where you live. This isn’t temporary. No one’s going to kick you out. You know that, right? You’re… wanted, and there’s no Doc here to blackmail you into constantly having your guard up. Relax, kid. You’re _okay_.”

Buddy’s hand was a constant, grounding pressure on his sternum and, despite _everything_ the last three years had held, Baby was starting to believe him.

\-- 

Baby was aware that he wasn’t the most conventional housemate. He played his music too loudly, he didn’t always remember to do the chores he was supposed to, and sometimes he didn’t speak for days on end for no particular reason. Joe had learned to live with Baby’s quirks back in Atlanta, and he’d learned to love him for them.

Darling and Buddy, on the other hand, had no such obligation to raise and care for Baby, but they put up with all his eccentricities regardless. It was probably considerably more difficult for the two of them than it had been for Joe, Baby mused, considering neither were deaf.

( _The particular instance that came to mind occurred not long after the trio had absconded to Italy. Baby was starting to grow more comfortable with Buddy and Darling, and it showed. He played music over the villa’s speaker system_ constantly _. During one particularly passionate midnight jam session, Darling had stumbled into the living room and unplugged the speaker, cutting Baby off in the middle of a guitar solo._

 _“Baby. Sweetheart._ Light _of my_ life _,” she’d said. “It’s almost two in the morning. The music has to stop. Come to fucking bed.”_

_With that, she’d padded back into their bedroom, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands like she had a migraine. Baby blushed bright red. Sometimes he forgot that Darling and Buddy weren’t deaf and were privy to his actions at all times, even past midnight._

_He’d exhaled softly and flopped down on the couch. Logically, he knew Darling wasn’t mad-mad at him. He’d grown better at reading people’s facial expressions, by that point. She was clearly just exhausted and irritated. She wasn’t_ angry _._

_Despite this fact, Baby couldn’t bring himself to go into their bedroom. He curled up on the couch under a throw blanket, still wearing his jeans, and tried to fall asleep despite the ringing in his ears. His earbuds were missing (well, they weren’t missing. He knew exactly where they were – on Buddy’s nightstand, in No Man’s Land) and his iPod was virtually useless._

_Thirty minutes passed before the bedroom door flung open again. Buddy strode out, running a hand through his hair, and stopped at the foot of the couch. He stared down at Baby with an expression that resembled distaste._

_“Stand up,” Buddy commanded. Baby obeyed, truly too taken aback to question it. In an instant, Buddy had him thrown over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, his hand resting loosely on the back of Baby’s thighs._

_“I could hear you fuckin’ overthinking from the other room,” Buddy told him, walking into the bedroom and dumping him onto the mattress. Darling sat up against the headboard and watched with a slight smile as Buddy tugged Baby’s jeans off him._

_“For future reference,” she’d told him then, pulling him up to rest his head on her chest, “just because I yell at you for having your music on at two in the morning, it doesn’t mean I want you to_ sleep somewhere else _.”_

 _“Okay,” Baby said, filing this fact about cohabitation in the back of his mind. Buddy laughed softly and pressed a kiss to Baby’s neck, his beard rough against Baby’s skin, and that had been the end of that._ )

Following that incident – with the exception of loud music in the middle of the night – Darling and Buddy had grown to be pretty accommodating. Therefore, when Darling walked into the living room a few days after Buddy got shot to see Baby crouched by the window, she just joined him wordlessly.

“Hey,” she said. 

“Hey,” he said back. 

“Why the fuck are you hiding by the window?”

“I was walking by and I _happened_ to glance out and see _Debora_ walking by.”

“Oh, no shit. _Really_?” Darling said, making to sit up and look out the window. Baby wrapped an arm around her shoulders and yanked her back down.

“Yes, really. I don’t know how she found our street. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said. He really was. Buddy and Darling’s life had been nothing but chaos ever since he (and Debora) had stumbled into it.

“Oh, shut up. I have more important things to worry about than a persistent past lover of yours, Baby. I don’t think she’s quite the type to turn us all in.”

“I don’t think she even knows what we did back in Atlanta,” Baby acquiesced after a beat. Darling didn’t answer. After a couple more minutes, he sighed, sitting up on his knees to peer over the window sill. Darling did the same.

Debora was exactly where she’d been earlier, leaning up against a streetlamp on the corner. She was shifting her weight between her feet (impatience) and repetitively tucking the same lock of hair behind her ear (discomfort). She was looking up and down the street as if someone was going to jump out and attack her.

(Baby knew that wasn’t true. When they’d moved in, Buddy had attempted to reassure Baby of his safety by saying that he and Darling were the most dangerous criminals south of the Arno. For some _inexplicable_ reason, it had worked. Therefore, unless Buddy was planning on materializing from nowhere and strangling Debora à la Jack the Ripper, she was probably safe. Besides, Baby was pretty sure Buddy was still taking a nap.)

“Not to sound preachy, but you should go talk to her,” Darling said, folding her arms on the window sill and resting her chin on them. Baby turned to look at her in shock.

“ _What_?”

“I’m serious. I don’t think she could have followed us here, unless you’ve been periodically tweeting your location out—”

“I _haven’t_ —” Darling cut him off with a look.

“Then _clearly_ fate has brought you two together again. Go talk to her Baby. You loved this girl, and I know you didn’t plan on leaving her like you did. You’re too good of a person for that.” 

Baby rolled his eyes childishly, turning his attention back to the street. Debora was gone. 

“Oh,” he said, not expecting the disappointment that coursed through him. 

“Damn, she must already be on her way up,” Darling said, standing and slapping his back.

“That’s not funny, Monica,” he deadpanned. She laughed.

“You sound more like Buddy every day. Don’t let him turn you into a cynic.”

She walked into the kitchen, but Baby remained by the window. He watched the street, making a mental tally of all the cars that passed. Debora could be in any of them and there was no way to tell. He exhaled heavily, finally sitting down with his back against the wall. Darling stuck her head out the doorway, holding a half-peeled tangerine.

“You know she’ll be back, right? She ain’t gonna give up that easily, cariño.”

“Yeah, I know.” The now-omnipresent ache in his chest intensified again, inexplicably. 

\--

Baby hadn’t really _doubted_ Darling, per se, but it was still jarring to walk by the window one day and once again spot Debora standing by the same street lamp. He resisted the urge to once again drop to his knees and crawl over to peer out of the window. That was not a particularly _adult_ way of dealing with his problems.

Before he had a chance to change his mind, he walked to the entryway, grabbed Buddy’s windbreaker (because Debora had unintentionally commandeered his own at their prior meeting), and walked out of the front door. It took until he reached the bottom of the stoop that he realized he didn’t have his sunglasses or his earbuds. For a brief moment, he felt incredibly exposed without them, but he forced himself to relax. This was _Debora_.

She didn’t see him approaching, and he supposed he should have been glad of that fact. It was incredibly advantageous for her to not know _exactly_ where he lived, in case things turned sour. It was unfortunate, though, because eventually he was within a reasonable distance of her, she hadn’t yet noticed him, and he had no _fucking_ idea what to say.

Looking back on it, he probably shouldn’t have settled on what he did.

“You’re not wearing black and white,” he said, and she jumped about a foot in the air, looking up from her phone and clutching at her chest.

“Wha-… _Baby_?!”

They both stared at each other in stunned silence. Baby felt as if he couldn’t look at her enough. It had been an accurate statement: she wasn’t wearing her uniform. ( _God, it’s been three years_ , Baby thought to himself. _She probably doesn’t even_ work _at Bo’s Diner anymore_. The revelation caused Baby’s stomach to twinge unpleasantly.) She had on a loose, dark red sweater. The sleeves were already long enough to cover her hands, but she tugged them further down anyway.

“You’re not wearing black and white,” he repeated stupidly. 

“I guess I’m going against my branding,” she said softly. “I don’t look like a zebra anymore.”

The way she said it – “ _zeh_ -bra” – made Baby’s heart swell. Before he knew what was happening, he’d tugged her into a tight hug. She was stiff in his arms for a moment, but eventually relaxed into him and wrapped her arms around his back. With a jolt, Baby realized that this was the first time he’d hugged someone other than Darling and Buddy in three years. 

He hadn’t been a particularly _tactile_ person back in Atlanta, but this was still a strange thing to recognize.

“Baby, where have you _been_?” Debora mumbled into Buddy’s jacket. Baby hesitated. He thought of Vancouver and of the tense flight to Florence. He thought of all the hotel rooms along the way. He thought of all the times he’d watched Buddy and Darling stand next to each other in a gas station bathroom, cutting their hair and changing their faces as if they were simply putting on a mask, becoming someone else right up until the three of them fell into bed with each other again.

“I’ve… been everywhere,” he said. I’ve been every _one_ , he added in his mind. 

“Your accent’s gone,” she said somewhat defensively, pulling back to look up at him.

“I know.”

For almost an entire minute, the two stared at each other. Baby’s arms were still wrapped loosely around Debora’s shoulders, and hers were locked around his waist. Somehow, her embrace was devastatingly familiar and painfully foreign at the exact same time.

“I need to go soon,” she said eventually, backing out of his grasp. “I want to see you again, though. Can you meet me for lunch? Tomorrow, maybe?”

“Yes,” Baby said, before he could overthink it. They agreed to meet at the small bistro on the other side of the river and Debora began to walk away after making Baby swear on his life that he would be there.

She was almost out of earshot before he could find it in himself to call out to her.

“Debora?” She turned around. Her hair swirled around her face with the movement.

“Yes, Baby?”

“How did you find me here? In Florence?" 

She was doing that thing again where she shifted her weight between her feet nervously. Baby waited patiently for her answer.

“Well, to be completely honest, I didn’t come here to look for you. I’m on my honeymoon.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she’d looked down at her watch again and exclaimed that she “really had to be going.” Debora waved at him over her shoulder one last time, reminding him not to be late tomorrow, before turning the corner and disappearing.

Baby stood motionless on the street corner for five minutes more before burying his hands in the pockets of his (Buddy’s) jacket and striding off in the opposite direction.

If he hurried, he could make it to the farmer’s market before it closed for the day.

 -- 

Baby sat alone in Buddy’s “office” – the room where they kept the desktop computer – with the door shut tight. He didn’t _actually_ have anything to hide, and everyone else in the house knew exactly what he was doing, but it still felt as if it should be kept secret. 

He clicked the Skype icon with shaky hands, almost finding himself ashamed of the music he had playing quietly in the background – You Can’t Live There Forever, by a band with a name longer than was worth remembering. It was bittersweet and made something deep within the pit of Baby’s stomach ache.

Joe was already on, staring at the computer with a vague air of disapproval. Baby could see the employees and the other residents of the nursing home milling around in the background, completely oblivious to the fact that Joe was Skyping a wanted criminal.

It took his foster father a couple moments to notice him. When he did, he immediately signed _you’re late_. Baby rolled his eyes.

 _I was at the farmer’s market_ , he replied, shrugging a shoulder unapologetically. _Besides, I’m only like five minutes late._

 _Five minutes is a long time when you don’t have that many minutes left_. Joe raised his eyebrows condescendingly. Baby smiled despite himself.

 _You’re being dramatic_ , he signed back. _You’re still in your prime_. 

Joe waved him off with a laugh. Baby settled back into his chair, the tension finally seeping out of him like he knew it would. He missed Joe so much that it was almost physically painful, at times. Their bi-monthly Skype calls had really helped with that.

(Baby owed Darling the world for helping him set it up. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t simply let go of the past and simply settle into Florence – like she had – but she’d helped him regardless.)

 _Today’s Thursday_ , Joe signed helpfully. Baby cocked an eyebrow. 

 _Yeah. Why?_  

_You usually go to the farmer’s market on Saturday. Why the change in routine?_

Baby sighed heavily. He should have known Joe would pick up on that. His foster father had spent far too many years witnessing Baby’s eccentricities to turn a blind eye to them now.

_I ran into someone today. Someone from Atlanta._

Joe’s eyebrows went sky high. He used both of his hands to draw an hourglass shape in the air. 

 _The girl?_ He questioned.

_Yes._

_What did she want?_

_Nothing. Well, to talk, I guess. I’m meeting with her for lunch tomorrow._

The video connection lagged briefly, so Baby wasn’t able to see Joe’s full answer, but it was something along the lines of _are you sure that’s a good idea_?  He shrugged at the camera exaggeratedly. He’d been asking himself that for the past couple hours as well, and hadn’t yet reached a conclusion.

Joe sat back and looked at him. Baby dreaded what he was going to say next. 

 _Are you listening to music?_ Joe asked suddenly. Baby nodded. _Turn it up._

Baby complied. Joe turned to look at the mostly-empty room behind him before cranking the speaker on his end. Baby could hear the tinny sound of his song playing back through Skype, at a slight delay. Even though he couldn’t see it, Baby knew Joe was feeling the vibrations of the music. After a few moments, Joe pulled his hand back.

 _It’s okay. I can’t hear it that well_ , Joe admitted. _It doesn’t sound like your usual stuff, though_.

 _It’s not mine_ , Baby signed back. _It’s one of Darling’s songs. I don’t know, I like it_.

_Which one is Darling, again?_

_Monica. Monica Costello. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about her on C-SPAN._

Joe waved him off dismissively.

 _You know I don’t take that shit to heart,_ he signed. _I support you. When you left with them, I told you I didn’t think it was a good idea. Even I can be wrong, occasionally._

Baby tried with all his might to keep from blushing, but he could tell from Joe’s knowing expression that he hadn’t been successful.

 _How are you getting on?_ He signed in an attempt to change the subject. Joe shrugged in the same exaggerated way that Baby had earlier.

 _Let me tell you something I wish I’d known when I was your age_ , he replied. Baby pretended to sigh exasperatedly, like he did every time Joe tried to impart wisdom upon him, but Joe ignored him gracefully. _Sometimes_ , he signed slowly. _You find happiness in unexpected places. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it._

 _I’m glad you’re doing well_ , Baby replied.

 Joe fixed him with that understanding-dad-gaze he’d coined so many years ago. It was equal parts comforting and heart-wrenching.

 _I’m not talking about me, Miles._  

Baby fixated on the desk for a moment before he could meet Joe’s gaze again. Fortunately, Joe seamlessly changed the subject and began to discuss the annoying woman who’d just moved in down the hall from him. The two signed back and forth for about twenty minutes more before Joe had to go, claiming that his favorite nurse (the one that always played his records for him) had just started her shift. He made Baby promise to update him on the Debora situation next time.

Baby agreed, waving goodbye before signing off and sitting back in his chair.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, staring at the computer screen that eventually faded to black, before there was a tentative knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” Darling asked, poking her head around the corner.

“Of course,” he replied. She ducked around the doorframe and walked towards him, seating herself in his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

“How’s Joe?” She asked.

“Still good. He doesn’t really like your taste in music.”

“Eh, that’s okay. I guess I can’t expect him to be perfect.”

She reached over and plucked Baby’s iPod off its docking station, scrolling through his music before settling on a song. She plugged it back in and settled back into Baby’s chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“You’re so vain,” he said softly as Monica Louise by The Velveteins began to play.

“Hey, _you_ downloaded it,” she replied defensively. “This is _your_ music.”

Baby shrugged dismissively, tightening his hold on her. He held Darling so much differently than he’d ever held Debora. Comparing the tentative embrace from earlier that day to his easy interactions with Darling was almost comical.

Speaking of…

“I’m going out with Debora for lunch tomorrow,” he said.

“That’s good. You figure out what she’s doing in Florence?" 

“She’s on her honeymoon.”

“Ooh,” Darling shifted around to look at him. “There’s a _story_ there. I expect all the juicy details when you get back, okay?”

“Okay,” Baby agreed. She pulled his chin down to kiss him gently before standing up to leave.

“Don’t just sit in here and overthink all night, okay? Jason’s finally agreed to watch _Wet Hot American Summer_ with me. You should come watch it too. He’s making popcorn right now.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Baby admitted.

“Oh, then you’ve _got_ to come. You’ll love Michael Showalter’s character. The man’s a comedic _genius_.”

Darling apparently wasn’t taking no for an answer. She walked back to Baby, pulling him to his feet and out of the office and talking his ear off about comedic timing (and other things he didn’t _particularly_ care about) the entire time.

It wasn’t long before he’d completely forgotten to be nervous about his meeting with Debora the next day. 

\--

The process of getting ready for his lunch with Debora was shockingly uneventful, in Baby’s opinion. He half expected for the sky to come crumbling down while he was in the shower, or for a fissure in the earth to open up while he was brushing his teeth. Nothing like that happened, and he left the villa unimpeded.

“You going?” Buddy had called from the kitchen, when he heard Baby fumbling with his headphones in the entryway.

“Yes.”

“Okay, see you later.”

Baby tried to interpret his tone, but it was far more difficult when he didn’t have any facial expressions to go off of. Buddy didn’t sound upset, but there was simply no way to be sure.

 _Well_ , the voice in his brain (that sounded suspiciously like Darling, in that moment) chimed in, _you can always just assume he_ isn’t _mad at you. Based on his past behavior, why would he be_?

Baby started playing Under the Bridge by the Red Hot Chili Peppers on his iPod. He _could_ stop overthinking things, but that wasn’t really in his nature. Maybe this was one of the qualities Buddy had been talking about earlier.

The trek to the restaurant was far less substantial than Baby had realized, which was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because it gave him less time to rethink the entire situation, turn around, and hide out in bed for the next three days. It was a curse because he looked up from the pavement – after what seemed like _seconds_ – to see the restaurant looming in front of him. 

Fantastic.

Debora was already inside. He watched her converse with the waiter, sweetly and fluidly. She’d never had a problem talking to _anyone_ , and Baby envied her so much in that moment. Regardless, it was the brightness of her smile that inspired him to swallow his own insecurity and walk inside. 

All doubt flew from his mind when she turned her gaze on him. She really was beautiful beyond measure. She had put on a little weight since he’d seen her last, and her face was fuller. It suited her. Her hair was tied on top of her head in a messy bun, dark tendrils snaking down to frame her eyes.

She’d always been soft in away Darling _wasn’t_. Debora had never been hardened from a life of crime. She’d never _had_ to be.

“Sorry, am I late?” Baby asked, taking the seat across from her. 

“No, I’m just early,” she said, leaning forward and resting her elbow on the table. “By the way, I think I stole your jacket.”

She turned and fetched Baby’s jacket, which had been hanging on the back of her chair. Baby took it from her and balled it up in his lap, gripping the fabric more tightly than what was necessary.

A beat of silence passed between them. She observed him openly, brow furrowing as her eyes locked on his neck. _Right_ , he realized. _She couldn’t see the tattoo yesterday. I was wearing Buddy’s jacket._

“You know, I did try to track you down after you… left,” she said suddenly. “I didn’t just lose hope immediately, or whatever. I looked for you for a long time. On the news, they didn’t know you. Only the people you were with. Someone at the diner recognized and identified Jason van Horn and Monica Costello by the tattoos on their necks. Leon Jefferson was found dead, though I’m sure you know that.” 

Her gaze was unrelenting at that point, burning a hole in his neck, and Baby tried his hardest not to cower under it. His earlier diagnosis of Debora’s character may have been… premature. She’d changed since Atlanta. Something had forced her to harden. Something that _wasn’t_ years of drug abuse and criminal activity.

 _Something_ , Baby thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach, _or some_ one.

“At first,” she continued, “I thought you were dead. You were another unfortunate casualty of whatever… _incident_ happened that day. Atlanta moved on, you know. Pretty quickly, actually. The news phased out stories about Costello and van Horn and everyone stopped looking for you. _I_ didn’t stop, but I couldn’t get very far. I don’t even know your first _name_ , Baby.”

“It’s Miles,” he chimed in, surprisingly quickly. She cocked her head.

“Miles,” she said, trying it out on her tongue.

“Yes.”

“Do _they_ know your real name?” The question was loaded down with multiple meanings, and Baby hesitated before answering.

“…Yes.”

“Why did you go with them?” Debora didn’t even sound inquisitive as much as she did _sad_. For one of the first times since leaving Atlanta, Baby felt _regret_ pang in his heart. He had opened his mouth stupidly, even though he had nothing to say. He was saved from answering by the approach of the waiter.

“Have you decided on anything?” He said, his accent thick. He was a young guy, and he visibly melted when Debora turned her thousand-watt smile in his direction. Baby was awed by the flawless transition of her personality.

“I’ll have a glass of your house red to start,” she said sweetly.

“I’ll have the same,” Baby said. The waiter didn’t even look in his direction, too enraptured by Debora. Baby couldn’t even fault him. He knew the feeling.

As soon as the waiter walked away, Debora once again transformed into the steely persona Baby had come to fear. It took his a few moments to realize she was waiting for an answer to her question.

“How did you find me here? Like, my street and everything,” Baby asked, trying to change the subject. Debora wasn’t amused.

“I knew you wouldn’t destroy that guy’s moped or anything, so I gave him my email and asked him to tell me where the police found it, _when_ they found it. I assumed you’d be nearby. That doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re avoiding the question, Miles.” Baby cringed at her usage of his real name. It just carried so much more _weight_.

“I left with them because I didn’t want to put you or my foster dad in any more danger than you were already in, just from being associated with me.”

“I would have dropped everything to leave with you,” Debora pointed out. “I didn’t have anything keeping me in Atlanta after my mom died.”

“I know,” Baby said. “It’s just… you barely knew me.” Debora opened her mouth, probably to dispute that claim, but Baby didn’t give her a chance to. “Just because you knew me better than anyone else at the time doesn’t mean you _knew_ me, Debora.”

She sighed, appearing to acquiesce to this point. She rested her chin on her hand and stared Baby down.

“I just—”

“You’re on your _honeymoon_ ,” Baby interrupted, probably more forcefully than he needed to. “That wouldn’t have happened if you’d come with me. You’d never have even met this guy.” 

“Girl,” Debora interrupted softly.

“Girl,” Baby repeated. “Wait—”

“It was a shock to me too, if that makes you feel better,” she said, fiddling with the ring on her left hand. “I’d seen her a couple of times at the laundromat before she introduced herself to me. She has a four-year-old son named Jack. He calls me Debbie. We met about a year and a half after you _disappeared_.”

The word “disappeared” was so pointed that it stunned them both into silence. The waiter returned with their wine and asked them if they were ready to order. Debora chose a pasta dish of some sort. Baby blindly picked the first thing on the menu.

He downed the entire glass of wine like a shot before turning back to Debora.

“I’m sorry I hurt you when I left,” he finally said, “but I don’t regret doing it.”

“You’re a lot less… timid, now,” she told him thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have said any of this three years ago.”

“A lot has changed, I guess.” She regarded him warily.

“So, what else have you been up to?” He asked after a beat. “Other than your tireless search for me, of course.”

She smiled genuinely, then, and some of the tension between them dissolved abruptly.

“I went back to school. I’m studying to be a teacher.”

“You’d be good at that,” Baby told her, and he meant it.

“Yeah, that’s what Margot tells me too. My wife,” she clarified when she saw the confused expression on Baby’s face.

“Ah, of course.” 

“What about you? What have you been up to these past few years?” Debora asked, looking genuinely interested in his answer. 

“I…” Baby started, before trailing off. He suddenly remembered his conversation with Buddy the other night and he fisted the fabric of his jacket. The nail polish on his fingers was cracked. He hoped she didn’t notice.

“I… haven’t done anything,” he finally admitted. This was _Debora_ , after all. He didn’t want to _lie_ to her.

She was still pondering his answer when their food came. The first thing on the menu had, apparently, been an appetizer-sized portion of garlic bread. Debora wordlessly pushed her plate into the middle of the table, and Baby twirled up a forkful of her spaghetti gratefully.

“You know what I think, Baby?” She said finally. 

“What?”

“I think you should make music like your mom did. You love music so much, anyway. It would be a fun way to spend your time.”

“I used to,” he admitted. “I used to record things on that old tape recorder and turn them into songs.”

“Is that why you recorded me at the diner, all those times?” Baby flushed bright red. 

“Yes.”

“I’d love to hear what came of that,” she said sweetly. “Maybe I have a future in music too. You can sample me on all your tracks.”

“I’d like to hear what came of that, too,” he admitted. “All of those tapes – well, all except one – are back in Atlanta. Believe it or not, but they actually caused the _incident_ , as you called it.”

“I can believe it,” she said, stealing a piece of garlic bread from his plate. “Did you get caught recording something you shouldn’t have been recording?” 

( _“W-was he slow?”_ Doc’s voice, overlaid with the beat Baby had created, played in his head suddenly and involuntarily _._ )

“Yes.”

“That’s a shame. Do you think Jason and Monica would mind you making music?” She asked sincerely. Baby almost wanted to flinch. It was so weird, hearing Debora refer to them by their first names like that. It was a level of intimacy that had taken Baby _years_ to work up to, and she could say them like they were nothing. 

“No. I don’t think they would.” Hell, Buddy would probably weep tears of joy if Baby revealed he actually had the ambition to do anything at _all_.

“That’s good. Hey, do you have a phone?” Debora asked. Baby was bewildered.

“No, I don’t. I’m on the _run_ , Debora.”

“Well, what’s the number of the place you’re staying in?” She asked, unfazed.

In his defense, Baby did hesitate for moment before giving her the number. She dialed it into her own phone immediately and held it up to her ear.

“No one’s going to answer,” Baby warned.

“ _Sh_ ,” she replied, and he fell silent. She never, _ever_ failed to throw him for a loop. Baby could briefly her the automated sound of the answering machine before she started to talk into the receiver.

“Hi, it’s Debbie. Debora,” she said, her accent thick and sugary. “I just wanted to call and say hello.”

She sang the last part under her breath, her singing voice as breathy and beautiful as Baby remembered it being. He loved Darling to the moon and back, but she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life. Baby loved that about her. There was nothing of his mother in Darling. Debora, on the other hand…

“Why did you… call me?”

Debora laughed, closing her flip phone with a snap. _Her phone bill is going to be insane_ , Baby thought to himself involuntarily.

“To give you a sample for your first song, of course!”

She smiled at him, and he looked back at her in complete awe. (Debora wasn’t much like his mother either, it turned out.) She twirled up another bite of spaghetti on her fork and he watched her eat it with his much slightly agape.

Suddenly, he thought about Buddy and Darling. Jason’s inexplicable fondness of folk music and his dry sense of humor. The way Monica danced like no one was watching and the way she patiently taught him to speak Italian, even though he was ridiculously bad at it. He thought of getting home from the restaurant and crawling into bed next to them, their presence enough to drown out the ringing in his head.

Baby turned back to smile at Debora. He definitely wasn’t in love with her anymore, but it was easy to see why he’d fallen so hard for her in the first place all those years ago. 

\-- 

His meeting with Debora concluded… anticlimactically. She’d hugged him tearfully, knowing as well as he did that this was the last time they’d be seeing each other for a while. She and Margot were returning to the States on Monday. 

It was a strange feeling, saying goodbye to Debora. Baby instantly remembered why he’d avoided doing so back in Georgia. Even as he watched her walk away, part of him wanted to call out and summon her back. A part of him would always want to be with her, just like a part of him would always miss his mother. The lines between the two were blurred.

Baby walked home with his head down and his newly reclaimed jacket thrown over his shoulder. It didn’t quite smell like Debora – more like the hotel room she was staying in – but he could pretend it did. 

Without realizing it, he gravitated towards his ‘Buddy’ playlist on his iPod. Arlo Guthrie’s Darkest Hour began to play. Baby didn’t generally enjoy folk music, but this song was the exception. It always made feel… safer, almost. 

( _Or maybe_ , the voice in his head stated bluntly, _it just reminds you of Buddy_.)

It was a fair point, and Baby conceded to it.

Speaking of Buddy, he was standing in the driveway when Baby got home, meticulously cleaning the windshield of an old, rusty looking truck. Baby stopped a couple driveways away to watch him.

Buddy’s thin white t-shirt was soaked through with sweat and he had a towel thrown over his shoulder that he occasionally wiped his face with. Baby traced the lines of his body with his eyes appreciatively, zeroing in on his biceps. Baby could confidently say there was nothing at all of his mother in Buddy.

He registered briefly that this fact was a weird thing to need to reassure himself of, over and over again. 

“You just going to stand there, or are you going to come and help?” Buddy called, and Baby averted his gaze quickly. He hadn’t realized that he’d been noticed. 

“I’ll help,” Baby said, walking the rest of the way to their villa. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t think it would be fair to take driving away from you completely. Unfortunately, you’ve never actually learned to drive, legally—” 

“Neither have you,” Baby pointed out. Buddy waved his hand dismissively.

“Doesn’t matter. At least I can blend in with traffic. You, on the other hand…”

“Point taken,” Baby griped. “What do you propose I do about it?”

“I can teach you, if you want.”

The situation was so surreal that Baby almost thought he was dreaming. Now that he thought about it, his entire _day_ had been surreal. Between meeting Debora for a lunch date (to talk casually about their _long-term partners_ and whatnot) to whatever this thing with Buddy was turning into, dreaming was the _rational_ explanation. 

Therefore, Baby went along with it.

“Sure,” he said carefully. Buddy nodded nonchalantly, but Baby could tell he’d been worried about his answer.

Baby tried not to fixate on how strange it was to be in the passenger’s seat. He’d _never_ get used to that. Maybe if he appeased whatever weird, protective urge had come over Buddy, the older man would be more willing to let him drive on his own again. His hands itched to be on the wheel.

Stealing that fucking moped was the freest he’d felt in _months_.

For a moment, he thought about driving through the Italian countryside with Buddy in the passenger’s seat and Darling leaning up over the center console. She’d be singing off-key, of course, and Buddy would be making fun of her. Baby could see himself, smiling with his hands gripping the wheel.

He didn’t want to escape _from_ Buddy and Darling. He wanted to escape _with_ them, and, unlike with Debora, this dream had the potential of becoming a reality.

Neil Young was crooning on FM radio – Cortez the Killer. Buddy was mumbling along (“ _Hate was just a legend, war was never known…_ ”), one hand on the wheel and the other on Baby’s upper thigh. It was thoughtlessly possessive in the way that Buddy so often was.

It really wasn’t a bad thing; it was just different. He didn’t ever act that way with Darling, though. Both of them treated Baby like he was something to be protected. It was off-putting at first, but he supposed he’d gotten used to it. This was the first time he’d really paid any mind to Buddy’s touch in years.

Baby slowly rested his hand atop Buddy’s, and the older man turned his over and laced their fingers together.

“How did your lunch date go?” Buddy asked nonchalantly. Baby wanted to roll his eyes.

“It wasn’t a _date_ , Jason. We’re both _taken_ , for lack of a better word.”

“I know, I’m just making fun of you. We got her voicemail, by the way. You sure it’s a good idea to give out our number like that?” 

“It’s just Debora.”

Buddy grunted noncommittally. Baby knew he wasn’t _really_ worried. Unlike Baby and Darling, Buddy had no attachments to their current physical location. He could pick up and leave that night, if need be, and never look back. That’s what had happened in Atlanta. It’s what happened in Vancouver. Eventually, it would happen in Florence as well.

The truck pulled into an old parking lot, riddled with potholes. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years and it was a decent distance away from any major road. It seemed perfect for their purposes.

“How’d you find this place?” Baby asked. 

“I was looking for it,” Buddy said, dropping Baby’s hand and opening the door.

“I was looking for it,” Baby repeated under his breath, as Buddy rounded the car to the passenger’s side. Why did he always have to be so _goddamn cryptic_?

As soon as Buddy opened the door, Baby surged up to kiss him, fisting his hands in the hair at the base of Buddy’s neck. Buddy made a noise of surprise before tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Baby enjoyed it for a moment more before pulling away and resting their foreheads together.

“Why did you really bring me out here? I _know_ you don’t want me driving, so don’t lie to me,” he said breathily.

“Fuck, Miles. I just wanted to know what the fuck happened with your girl. Monica said it was stupid—” 

“It is. You don’t have to _bribe_ me into telling you. She’s not my girl, anyways. She’s married now.”

“Who’s the lucky guy? Another mysterious, quiet type?” Baby pulled back to laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“The _girl_ seems to be as far from the mysterious type as one can be. She has a son. Debora seems to love the kid like he’s her own.”

Jason hummed in reply, moving his hands up to card through Baby’s hair. He keened into the touch.

“Did that surprise you? Her marrying a woman?” Buddy asked. Baby rolled his eyes.

“No. I discovered a long time ago that I don’t know anything about sexual orientation. My own or anyone else’s.” He leaned forward again and made as if he were going to kiss Buddy again, but moved around him at the last second to step out of the truck.

“I thought you said I didn’t have to bribe you,” Buddy said accusingly.

“You don’t, but we’re already here. Do you really think I’m going to turn this down?” Baby asked, cocking an eyebrow disbelievingly as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Buddy muttered a few choice phrases before clamoring into the passenger’s seat.

“Don’t get mad at _me_. This was _your_ idea,” Baby pointed out. Buddy ignored him, gracefully turning up the radio. The music was staticky, but Baby could pick out the chorus of Waterloo Sunset regardless.

Baby shifted the truck into gear and started idling around the parking lot at a snail’s pace, looking at Buddy with a bemused expression. 

“Eyes on the road, newbie,” Buddy ordered, and Baby laughed. Buddy’s sense of humor would never fail to surprise him. Baby and Darling both made fun of him for it all the time. He just _looked_ like the kind of person who would be completely no-nonsense. Darling said it was the beard. Baby agreed.

“Yes, sir,” he replied in a husky voice.

“This is neither the time _nor_ the place, kid.”

They did a couple laps around the parking lot in complete silence, the music a lazy soundtrack. Baby had to force himself to pay attention to the “road”. It seemed so _boring_ compared to Buddy’s presence, but he supposed that was the point. Frankly, he was just glad to be being the wheel again, despite the fact that he hadn’t yet broken ten miles an hour.

“Wonder what Bats would say if he could see me now,” Baby said softly.

“Hm?” 

“The Spirit of 85, learning to drive.”

“I think he’d have a lot to say about this situation. This particular part of it would probably just be a _footnote_ in the extensive sphere of Bats’ opinion on the past three years.”

Baby silently agreed. It took until Buddy wrestled one of his hands away from the wheel to clasp it between his own two that Baby realized he was shaking uncontrollably. The ringing in his head was louder than it had been in years, regardless of the music playing.

“Pull over,” Buddy said, his voice gentle. It was a request, not a demand. Baby had known him long enough to tell the difference.

“No, not yet. I need to do this,” Baby replied. Besides, he wasn’t going fast enough to cause any _real_ harm, were the truck to crash into something. Regardless, he didn’t voice this opinion to Buddy.

Three or four more songs cycled through the radio, but Baby didn’t pay any attention to them. He gently took his hand back from Buddy and gripped the wheel until his fingers went numb, and then he gripped it even harder. He turned a corner a little too sharply, refusing to acknowledge the subtly concerned look Buddy was aiming his way. 

“Why hasn’t Doc come looking for us?” Baby said suddenly. The sun was dipping behind the roof of an abandoned building nearby, casting a shadow across the parking lot.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that we stole the money orders from him. He basically kept me enslaved after the incident with his car, and I was just a _kid_. Why hasn’t he come after us for this?” 

“Because _you_ did it, Baby. Jesus.” Buddy sounded annoyed. Baby rounded another corner, a little too quickly. Buddy braced his hand on the ceiling as the car skidded slightly.

“What does that mean?” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t _know_ ,” Buddy chastised him. Baby glared at him, and Buddy’s expression changed completely.

“Oh fuck,” he said in a low voice. “You really don’t?”

“Know _what_?” The speedometer was ticking upwards steadily, but neither Buddy nor Baby paid it any mind.

“Kid, he was infatuated with you. He called you _Baby_. You were on every single fucking job he orchestrated since he met you. Hell, you met his _family_.” 

“Only his nephew,” Baby said defensively, before Jason’s point clicked in his mind. “Wait, _what_?”

“Oh, my God. You _really_ had no idea. Baby, when I first met you, we _all_ thought you two were fucking. After the – ahem – _incident_ in the parking garage, when Bats and I were trying to carry your limp body back into the warehouse, he was freaking the fuck out because he thought Doc was going to kill him for touching you.”

“I…”

“Miles, he loved you so much that he never even made a fucking _move_ on you. I thought you _knew_ , at least. That’s why Bats hated you so fucking much. If any of us had pulled even half the shit you did, we’d have been dead before you could say ‘tequila.’”

“That’s not fair,” Baby snapped defensively, yanking the steering wheel to the left and causing the car to spin out. Neither one of them reacted to it. Baby’s heart was pounding in his chest and no matter how hard he wanted to dispute Buddy’s claim, he knew he couldn’t. The pieces were all coming together in the most fucked-up symphony imaginable. 

( _“That’s my Baby.”_ )

His head ached almost as much as his hands, which were white-knuckling the steering wheel with a vengeance. FM radio was not enough. When had he stopped depending on his earbuds? _Why_ had he stopped?

The answer to all of Baby’s questions was seated next to him, bracing himself on the dash. “Maybe you should slow down, kid,” Buddy said cautiously.

“Is that why you took me with you in the first place? It was never really about _me_. It was about your goddamn… _god_ complex. You… couldn’t stand _not_ saving me.” The words weren’t coming as easily as Baby wanted them to, turning his entire argument into a stuttering mess. Buddy didn’t call him on it. Baby knew he wouldn’t.

“Oh, come on. We took you with us because we wanted to get you out. You deserved to get away from Doc, especially after the fucking _scene_ at the mall. If we’d left you behind…” Buddy trailed off, as if that possibility was something he couldn’t even bring himself to voice. Baby scoffed.

“Did you ever consider – even _once_ – that by allowing me to come with you, that you were ensuring I’d never get out? The moment—”

“Baby, watch the fuck out for that building!” Buddy snapped, but Baby’s eyes didn’t leave his. They were barreling for one of the abandoned businesses lining the parking lot at 120 miles-per-hour, and the engine of the truck was whining in protest. The interior of the vehicle smelled like fire. Buddy closed his eyes, subconsciously preparing for the impact, but it never came.

At the last possible second, Baby twisted the wheel as hard as he could and yanked the parking brake. With a deafening squeal, the truck made a full 180-degree turn before stopping in its tracks, smoke billowing up from the engine and the tires alike. Baby’s eyes hadn’t left Buddy’s face, the entire time. He continued speaking as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“The moment I took Darling’s phone from her in Fayetteville, I was surrendering to whatever this is. It’s been three _years_ and I still don’t fucking know, Jason. The girl I loved more than anything sat down across from me today, wedding ring on her finger, and told me she couldn’t look for me when I left because she _didn’t know my name_. And you know what I _wanted_ to say back to her? ‘Debora, sometimes I don’t know my own fuckin’ name either.’”

And there was the accent, creeping back into his voice unwittingly. He couldn’t even remember why he’d fought so hard to get rid of it in the first place. On that note, he wrenched the door open and left the truck, his feet finding purchase atop the skid marks he’d just created.

“Baby, where are you going?” Buddy called, climbing out of the truck and making his way over to Baby.

“I… I don’t know,” Baby said breathlessly, backing up until he hit the aluminum siding of the truck. His own hand snaked up to graze the tattoo on his neck. Buddy followed its movement, his expression pained.

“You regret it, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question. The look in Buddy’s eyes almost made Baby want to take it all back. He couldn’t, though. He’d already gotten this far. 

“No, I don’t regret it. I just… when I met you and Darling – when I ran away with you – you were all I had. I’d lost my mom, I’d lost Joe and Debora, I’d lost my _city_... hell, I’d just committed a _murder_. I just thought I lost my identity then, when I left Atlanta with you two. Or maybe I’d lost it when I started working for Doc.” Baby paused, his breath coming out shakily. “Jason, I’m starting to think I never had it in the first place. All I have is my earbuds and my sunglasses and I… I never worked it out any further than that.” 

“Do you want to go back to Atlanta?” Buddy asked, brows furrowing. Baby sighed, before taking Buddy’s hand and bringing it to rest on his neck. Buddy traced the letters like he’d done so many times before, but he was staring at Baby, enraptured, as if he were seeing him for the first time.

“No. I just… I want to be yours, Jason, but I can’t if I don’t even know who I am.”

“What do you need from us?” Buddy asked genuinely, and Baby couldn’t love him any more if he _tried_.

“I guess I just need time. I’ll… see you at home, okay? I love you.”

With that, he placed a lingering kiss on Buddy’s palm before returning it to him. He sidled around him and buried his hands in his pockets, keeping his head down as he left the parking lot. Buddy didn’t try to stop him.

Baby covertly turned his head so he could smell his jacket. All traces of Debora were gone from it. At that point, all it smelled like was exhaust.

It took about three blocks for the ringing in his ears to come back with a vengeance. Baby had left his earbuds back in the truck, and without his music to offset the constant noise, there was nothing he could do to relieve the pain in his head. He gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

\--

The next few weeks passed in a painful haze, for everyone. Darling knew enough of what had happened in the parking lot to be pissed at Buddy “for _pushing_ him,” who in return tried to justify his actions. Baby would sometimes sit at the piano in the living room, staring at the keys (but never touching them), and listen to them argue. Their arguments were _never_ like his parents’ had been: there was always some level of civility in them. 

Even when they were fighting, Baby knew Buddy and Darling loved each other.

He started to sleep in the guest room upstairs, Skyping with Joe nearly every night. Joe was confused by the abrupt change in routine, but he could sense that Baby needed it. Baby didn’t know what he was looking for, but he figured he’d know it when he saw it.

(In a moment of weakness, he’d listened to the message Debora left on the answering machine. He made sure to do it in the dead of night, so Buddy and Darling wouldn’t get too concerned. Baby soon realized that _whatever_ he was looking for, he couldn’t find in Debora anymore. He deleted the message from the machine.)

It seemed as if he was moving further and further away from whatever… _enlightenment_ he was seeking. When he spoke to Buddy and Darling, it was either in heavily-accented English or choppy Italian. He no longer cared to try and master that stupid, ambiguously American accent. All the traces of Atlanta in his dialect made him feel better about himself.

 _I’m just not sure what I want anymore_ , he signed sloppily to Joe one night. His foster father leaned on the arm of his wheelchair and looked at Baby with the perpetually concerned expression he’d come to know so well. Even through the shitty camera quality, Baby knew that _look_ anywhere. 

 _These people you’re with. You love them, right?_ Joe asked, and Baby nodded before he could even finish signing.

_Yes. More than anything._

_Well, then stop shutting them out. That’s stupid and you know it._ Joe’s words were harsh, but Baby knew he was right. Joe was _always_ right.

The thing was, he didn’t mean to be shutting them out. It was just far easier than the alternative. After _all_ they’d given him, Baby knew he couldn’t make them pick up the pieces of his identity and put him back together again.

He had to do this himself.

Part of him wondered what his mother would say about this whole thing, but he quickly nixed that line of thinking. His mother was the whole _root_ of his problem. The last thing he needed was to ponder on her death even more than he already had.   

(If it was late enough at night, and if he focused hard enough, sometimes he could still feel the impact.)

He walked into Darling and Buddy’s room at 9 AM on a Sunday, rubbing his eyes blearily. It had been a long, sleepless night. Buddy was still sleeping, curled up and facing away from Darling, who was sitting up against the headboard with her table lamp on. Her hair was greasy and dark at the roots, piled up on her head in a messy bun. She was wearing her reading glasses, their big and clunky frames sitting low on her nose.

(She hadn’t needed reading glasses three years ago.)

“You just going to stand there?” She said softly, looking up from the book she was reading. From what Baby could see of the cover, it certainly wasn’t in English and it didn’t appear to be in Italian or Spanish either. He hated her affinity for learning languages.

“I…” He started, before trailing off. Before he could overthink it, he crawled onto the bed and up to her, resting his head on her chest. She accepted his weight wordlessly, placing her novel on the nightstand. She knit one hand in his too-long hair and rested her other on the middle of his back. He inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“When I left Atlanta, I knew I didn’t want to drive for Doc anymore. That’s not all, though. I just realized that… I don’t think I want to be _Doc’s Baby_ anymore, either.” The term left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Who do you want to be then?” Darling asked.

“I just want to be Miles. I think I’m ready for that.”

Before she could answer, Buddy interjected tiredly. 

“Does that mean you’re going to start sleeping in here again?” He asked, rolling over and throwing an arm over Baby’s back.

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep, though. I’m not… better.”

“You’re getting there, though,” Darling said to him, turning to flip the lamp off.

The stripe of sunlight spilling in from between the heavy curtains stretched across the carpet and stopped just short of the bed. Baby looked it pensively, focusing acutely on how his breathing pattern was different than Buddy’s and Darling’s. They were all in sync with each other, but Baby still inhaled while Darling exhaled.

They could be in sync without being the _same_. It was this stark distinction that finally allowed Baby to fall asleep. 

\-- 

Things came to a head on a night where Jason and Monica had a job. They didn’t exactly tell Baby about it, but he knew the signs that they were getting ready to leave: they were walking around the apartment in their tennis shoes and inconspicuous outfits and talking lowly, at nine o’clock at night. Baby sat facing the piano and didn’t watch them. The tattoo on his neck seemed to pang every time he moved.

Music was playing, and for once Baby couldn’t assign a name to the track. It was on one of the iPods that he didn’t use too often. It was passionate, something that he’d probably like to sing along to, but it was also sad in a way he couldn’t describe. _Definitely not a song to drive to_ , he thought, before shaking his head to dismiss that line of thinking. 

_Time is never time at all. You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth._

Monica walked over to him, sitting down on the bench with a flourish and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “We’re about to leave, cariño.” A week ago, he would’ve thought she was immune to his internal turmoil. Now, he knew she was just trying to take his mind off of it.

“Okay. I’ll see you when you get home?” He asked, slightly embarrassed at how childish he sounded. Monica smiled softly. 

“Of course you will. I _would_ tell you not to wait up for us, but that would be a waste of breath.” She pressed a lingering kiss to his temple before standing and making to walk away. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back in for a real kiss. Their breath mingled together when he finally pulled back. He could feel how rapid her pulse was. 

“I love you,” he said definitively. She looked bewildered for an instant, but it soon melted into a smile. 

“I love you too, Miles.” With that, she ruffled his hair and walked out of the room.

“You need anything before we go?” Jason asked. Baby stood up and walked to where the older man stood by the doorway, drawing him into a tight hug. Jason paused for a moment before hugging him back, resting his chin on Baby’s shoulder.

“Where’d this come from?” He breathed. 

“I’m just glad to be here with you,” Baby replied truthfully. 

“I’m glad you’re here too. I… things would be very different without you.”

“Can you two stop being sappy? We’ve got a _schedule_ , Jason.” Monica stretched out the word, making it a poignant three syllables. _Sche-du-le_. Jason rolled his eyes. Baby could feel the flutter of his eyelashes against the tattoo on his neck.

“Of _course_ , my love.” He pulled back from Baby and pressed a kiss to his forehead before joining his wife by the front door. The two of them bickered amicably under their breath while they made their way out of the house, turning to wave at Baby.

He waved back.

After they were gone, it was marginally easier to go back to the piano bench and sit down. He fiddled with his iPod’s speaker on the way there, without looking at the song. 

(“ _The impossible is possible tonight…_ ”)

The apartment was plunged into silence. He heard a car pulling out of the driveway and flexed his fingers, placing them on the piano keys.

He thought of the way Doc used to look at him: loaded glances that he hadn’t understood until recently. He thought of Bats and his crass sense of humor and how the blood bubbled up around his lips when the rebar went through his chest. He thought of his mom, how her hair seemed to glow gold in his memories.

He thought of Debora and her new life back in the States. He thought of Joe, how he’d settled seamlessly into his new home.

Finally, he thought of Monica and Jason. His lips curled upwards. It was fair for him to assume that they were thinking of him in that moment as well. He reached up to touch his tattoo once, as if for luck. Baby closed his eyes for a brief second and exhaled heavily before opening them again.

Three years. He’d wasted _three years_. Wasting any more time would be _criminal_.

Without a second thought, Miles brought his hands back to the keys and began to play. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the final installment of the series! Thanks for being patient. Life has been hellish, starting college and all.
> 
> Thank you, everyone who has read this series and supported it. This was an entirely self-indulgent project, so I'm very glad anyone else was able to get something out of it.
> 
> I've compiled all the music mentioned in this series into this Spotify playlist, in order, if anyone is interested (Baby's piano song is the last thing on it): https://open.spotify.com/user/nihilegi/playlist/0LsrjZu8nJekuwEU9Kohd2
> 
> Finally, as always, hit me up on bradmoshpitt.tumblr.com if you are so inclined. Thank you so much for reading!


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